


Forgiven

by Evelyn6



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, No ScarletBeauty, Rumbelle - Freeform, Season 4B Reunion Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evelyn6/pseuds/Evelyn6
Summary: Rumplestiltskin has found his way back to Storybrooke. He has his magic back, but his real happy ending seems so far out of reach.
A rewrite of the season four (b) reunion between Belle and Rumplestiltskin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was rewatching "Unforgiven" and will never get over the missed opportunity for a real reunion between Belle and Rumplestiltskin. This is my version of how I wish things would have gone.

Rumplestiltskin had never felt more powerful, nor more vulnerable in his life. After six weeks of ramen noodles and Ursula's dreadful excuse for hospitality, his careful planning had finally paid off and he was back in Storybrooke. Not that it had done him much good. Sure, he had his magic back. He could finally ease the pain in his ankle and summon something better than bland noodles or Mr. Clucks for dinner. Having known what it was like, now, to be broken and without even his magic to stand on, he felt unstoppable as it surged through his veins once again.

But his Belle, his beautiful Belle, seemed utterly lost to him. And what good was it all if he didn't have her?

It wasn't as if he had come back expecting her to forgive him. No, he was beyond even her generous propensity for forgiveness at this point. Still, that didn't stop his weathered old heart from hoping. For what, he wasn't sure. Perhaps that she might talk to him; at least give him a chance to explain. He needed her to know that he was sorry, that he knew he had gone about things the wrong way, that it had all been for her.

When he had been imprisoned by Zelena, all he could think of was how she could have ordered him to kill Belle and he would have been powerless to stop her. It tormented him, nightmares of his hands around her neck, his fingers choking the life from her blue eyes until they were nothing but empty replicas of the fire that Belle always held in them. Her body, cold and lifeless, buried beside Bae's, the insects eating away all that was once lovely and warm.

Even after he had been freed and had Belle safely in his grasp again, the dagger's power hung over him, an anchor chained to his feet that never, for one moment, let him forget how easily it could happen again.

He had meant it when he gave possession of his dagger over to Belle. For all his fears, there was no one he trusted more in the world than her, even over himself. He had made mistakes too many times, followed darkness down the wrong path, and it had only ever let to regret. He _needed_  her. Somehow, he felt safest in her hands.

Then he had seen the hat - seen a way to be free of that anchor, to never have to hurt someone he loved ever again - and he couldn't help but take it. For himself, but most of all for her. 

There were a hundred things he should have done differently, a plethora of 'what ifs' and 'should haves' - and reminders, mostly, of all that he had lost - that plagued him as he paced the cabin waiting for Ursula and Cruella to return.

They were visiting the shop. More importantly, they were visiting Belle, and he would be lying if he said that wasn't all he was thinking about. He could feel anxiety twisting his stomach and he found himself wishing he had his cane to wrap his fist around as he tried to get the wrenching feeling in his heart to stop. Gods, but he longed to hear her voice; to ask her how she was doing. Would she ask about him, he wondered. Did she miss him as desperately as he missed her?

He dropped himself into a nearby chair, but his back had barely touched the cushion when the front door swung open and he shot back to his feet. 

He tried not to look too eagerly at the two women who entered. He must not have succeeded, though, because Cruella rolled her eyes the moment she saw him.

"Well, I can tell you missed us dreadfully, darling," Cruella trilled sarcastically, waving a bejeweled hand in the air. 

He managed to wait a whole two seconds before words started to fall out of his mouth.

"Did... Did she say anything? A-About me?" he asked. He had meant to ask if they had been successful in their task and collected Maleficent's rattle, but apparently his head (and heart) had other concerns. 

Ursula groaned as she closed the cabin door behind them and shrugged out of her coat, tossing it over the back of a nearby chair before sinking into the chair herself.

"Not a thing, Dark One," she answered him, catching Cruella's eye and gesturing with her head to the banister where a decanter of rum sat waiting. 

If there was any hope left in the dark sorcerer, it deflated at those words. It rushed out of him in a gush of breath and a sag of his shoulders, a light flickering into dust in his black heart, leaving him bereft and broken once again. 

He truly didn't have a chance, did he?

"Did she... seem alright?" It would be enough, if she were happy. That's what he tried to tell himself, even though he knew he wasn't strong enough to make it true.

"Happy as a clam," Cruella answered as she passed a glass to Ursula before pouring her own, blissfully ignoring the way the Dark One was breaking down in front of her. 

_Did you really think she would be pining after you? Crying into her pillow at night for the man who lied to her, who betrayed her?_ a dark voice reminded him. They were angry at him, the voices. 

He was angry at himself.

He could feel his eyes filling with tears. He hated himself for it and hated even more that anyone might bear witness to the pain that seemed to twist and tear with every miserable breath he took.

He had lost her. He knew he had. And what was there to do for it? He had done terrible things and pushed even his kind, forgiving, beloved Belle past her breaking point.

"Good. Good thing," he managed to choke out. It was all he managed before he got to his feet and left, the cold Maine air hitting him hard and helping him stave off the tears as he trudged blearily to the Rabbit Hole and the familiar empty company of a glass of scotch. 

"You know, I never thought I would miss that posturing little imp. But this... this is _torture_ ," Ursula announced with a groan once the door closed again. 

She could hear Rumplestiltskin's shoes scuffing against the gravel as he shuffled away and she wished she could ignore the sight of his hung head and hopeless expression as he left. 

She thought back to the shop, and seeing Belle, and wondered if they should perhaps have told him the truth. Belle looked like someone had locked her up in a basement again - too thin and constantly on the verge of tears. Oh, and she'd asked after him alright. But Ursula knew better than to interfere in a marriage. No, he would have to figure this out on his own. Still, seeing the terror of the Enchanted Forest reduced to _this_ was just painful. 

"I can't take another night of him coming back sloshed," Cruella chimed in, as fed up as she was. 

Ursula shivered and downed her drink. "Oh God, the _blubbering_."

Cruella grimaced and poured them both another, swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully as she pursed her lips. Maybe the man could use just a  _little_ push...

"Give it an hour. Then call the sheriff," she decided. The two women clinked their glasses in toast and sent small, hopeful smiles at the cabin door.

* * *

Belle couldn't read. It had never happened to her before, but no matter how hard she tried or how diligently she stared at the words in front of her, nothing registered. She would get through a whole chapter only to realize that she had absolutely no idea what had happened. 

It was miserable. 

_She_ was miserable. 

She had made the biggest mistake of her life and she didn't know how to fix it. At this point, she couldn't even recall why she had done it in the first place. She had been so torn between her head and her heart; her mother's voice telling her to be brave and her husband's telling her he loved her; the anger at finding out what he had done and the too-faint voice that tried to tell her _why_.

It wasn't until after she had pushed him away - pushed him over the town line and left him with absolutely nothing - that that voice spoke up and reminded her that things weren't so simple. It reminded her of all that Rumple had been through in his past and in his time as the Dark One. It reminded her that he had just lost his son and been imprisoned by a crazed witch. 

Yes, she was hurt by what he did but she knew there was a deeper reason as to why he did it. There always was. She had begged him to open up to her but he still withheld things. She would have helped him if he had just _confided_ in her. But he hadn't. And so she hadn't understood. And now she had lost the man that she loved. Worse still, _she_  had been the one to push him away.

She sighed and rested her forehead against the window, her small reading nook good for nothing now except staring longingly at the pawn shop and wishing its owner were there, working too late on some odd trinket or other. Her apartment above the library was cold and small and didn't feel remotely like home, but it afforded this view and the distance she needed from the life they had built together. She couldn't bear to stay at the house, surrounded by their things, their memories. She didn't deserve to be there.

She was his wife, the person who was supposed to care for him and stand beside him no matter what, and she had left him in the middle of a road with not even his cane to stand on. 

She felt tears well up and spill over her cheeks as they had for months now and she let them go unchecked and kept her eyes on the pawn shop, wishing. 

The sound of her cell phone ringing made her flinch, the sharp sound echoing off the bare walls. Emma's name was flashing in capital letters on the screen as she pressed the 'answer' button. 

"Hello?" 

"Belle? I'm so sorry to bother you. I know it's late, but... Well, we have a bit of a situation here," Emma said, music playing in the background and muffling her words.

"Is everything okay?" Belle asked as she got up, closing her book without marking the page. 

Emma let out a long "um" and then went quiet and Belle was about to ask again when she heard a heavy sigh come through the receiver. 

"Look, I know you two aren't on good terms right now, but Mike called- the bartender at The Rabbit Hole?" she clarified. "Gold is here. And he's not doing very well."

Belle felt her breath hitch in her throat, and the worry that clutched at her chest was immediate. 

"By 'not doing very well...'" she prompted.

"He's had a lot to drink. And he's..." Emma paused, "emotional. And to be honest, most of the town is too scared to approach him. The whole 'he can turn people into bugs' bit, you know."

Belle let her breath out in a rush, the picture already forming in her mind of Rumple sat at a sticky bartop, his hair probably disheveled from his tendency to run his hands through it when he was upset. Her heart clenched at the thought.

She had seen him a few times since he came back to town, but had been avoiding him for the most part (which meant entirely). She was terrified of the possibility that he might hate her for what she did. There was an apology stuck in her throat that was so massive that she wasn't sure she could get it out. And she needed to before her heart shattered from guilt and regret and the dying hope that everything could be right again. 

_Be brave, Belle_ , she told herself. And even though she chuckled inwardly at the irony of how that phrase caused as much trouble as it fixed, she still told Emma, "I'll be right there."

* * *

Rumplestiltskin threw back another glass of scotch, dropping the glass against the bar top with a loud 'clink' and not feeling the least bit of relief from the alcohol that was burning its way down his throat. He was drunk, he knew. Or, as close to it as he could get. Despite the Dark One's hearty alcohol tolerance that made it nearly impossible, he had drunk enough that his head felt muddled and his vision was fuzzy and he was pretty sure that the cup in front of him was moving.

But it still wasn't doing anything for the pain in his chest. No matter how many glasses he drank, he still felt empty and cold. So he poured another and tried desperately not to think of where he would much rather be or who he would much rather be with.

He wondered if maybe he had succeeded, if he had done himself in enough to pass out at the bar, because the touch of warm skin against his forehead felt like a dream. And absolute bliss. 

It was _her_  hand. How he knew just by the barest touch of fingertips to his skin, he had no idea. But he knew.

He sighed as he leaned into the touch, wishing with everything he had that it could last. It would fade. It always did. But in that moment, he felt the tiniest bit of warmth in his chest and Gods, but he needed it so much.

He almost didn't hear someone speaking closely to him, as concentrated as he was on the feel of her fingers as they slid to his temple and ran through the strands of hair that had fallen in his face.

"Rumple?" 

_Her_ voice.

His eyes flew open and he upended the bottle of whisky on the counter as he shot to his feet. Unfortunately, it seemed he'd had enough to drink that he was a bit unsteady, and he tried to reach out to grab his stool but it ended up being further away than he thought it was and he missed. Just before he could slump forward, a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders, grounding him.

"It's okay. I've got you," she said, her voice gentle as she helped him steady on his feet.

He could have cried at her choice of words.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the flurry of movement, but they settled as if on instinct on her face, reading over her familiar, cherished features as if he hadn't seen them from across the street a dozen times over the last few days. But he missed her so badly that seeing her from afar had done absolutely nothing to sate him.

"Belle," he choked out, half reverent breath, half plea.

She tried to smile, but it was a halfhearted thing that barely lit up her face and it pained him to see it. He hadn't seen her smile, not once, since he had come home. 

"Yeah. It's me," she whispered, as if he didn't already know. As if he hadn't been staring at her with more focus than he'd managed in months since the moment her face came into view.

"Come on, let's get you home," she said, tucking herself under his arm and wrapping her arm around him.

_Home_. How he wished he had one. She was his home. And he had driven her away.

Anger flooded through him at the reminder of what he'd done and as loathe as he was to do so, he pushed himself away from her and slumped against the bar in a heap of self-depreciation, his heart thudding painfully. She shouldn't have to be here. He had hurt her, betrayed her. She deserved to be able to stay as far away from him as she could.

"I'm fine," he told her, shaking from the force it took to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

Belle flinched; sighed. Broke his heart further. But, always his brave Belle, she stepped towards him anyway. He whimpered pathetically when she put her hand on his arm, the touch so warm and real and needed that he couldn't bear it.

"Rumple, you're not fine. Just... come with me. Please?" she asked, dipping her head in an effort to meet his eyes again.

He looked at her blue eyes for much too long. He never had been able to resist her and he was even more of a coward now. If he were strong, he would have resisted. He would have apologized for troubling her and assured her that he was alright, wished her well and made sure she made it to the car safely, and then he would have gone back to the cabin and buried his tears in his pillow until he finally fell asleep (and didn't that sound horribly pathetic). 

But, he wasn't strong. Or brave. Or good. And Belle was standing before him looking like a goddess and salvation all at once, her blue eyes warm and her brow pinched with worry. He was nodding before he even realized it and he hated himself for the way his body responded when she wrapped her arm around his waist and tucked his over her shoulder. Rather than make at least some attempt to keep her at arm's length and spare her from having to be so close to him, he was practically plastered to her, the beast inside him purring contentedly at the smell of her shampoo against his nose.

It was a miracle they both managed to stay on their feet as she helped him towards the back door. His feet kept dragging and his vision was still swimming, and his body was more preoccupied with how _warm_  Belle was that he almost pulled them both to the ground more than once. How she managed to keep him upright in those ridiculous heels of hers, he had no idea. Somehow, she seemed to know the exact moment that he felt woozy. She would tighten her grip, whisper something soothing, and he would come to his senses and regain his feet.

She had a magic of her own, his Belle.

She nudged the door open and the first blast of cold Maine air did wonders for clearing his head. He wasn't swaying quite so much as he looked around for the familiar sight of his Cadillac. But instead of the black car he expected, there was a yellow bug idling by the entrance. No Cadillac. Just the yellow bug. 

"Emma lent it to me," Belle explained when she saw him staring incomprehensibly at it.

He felt the coldness start to creep into his heart again, the realization of just how _different_ things were now hitting him like a sack of bricks. For how much history they had together, these were uncharted waters, tremulous and fragile, and it pained him deeply to see how distant they had become.

She didn't even want to drive his car.

He slumped into the passenger seat of the Volkswagen with a heavy sigh. The ride home was tense, silent. He kept opening his mouth to say something but couldn't come up with anything that wasn't "I'm sorry" or "Please stay with me," so he shut his mouth and stared glumly out the window instead.

The sight of the salmon house as they pulled up the driveway gave him some comfort. He had been staying at the cabin since he returned, assuming Belle was at the house and not wanting to encroach on her space. He couldn't help but relish being back there. At least for tonight he would be surrounded by the _Belle_. For tonight, the sheets would smell of her and the house would feel warm and he could bundle up under the covers and pretend, just for a moment, that everything wasn't wrong.

His head was clearer now as he pulled himself out of the car, the alcohol already worked out of his system with the help of his magic. Still, even with his feet steady once again, he accepted Belle's presence at his side as they made their way across the lawn. He knew she wanted nothing to do with him (his own fault), but he had so little time with her and needed her so badly that he decided to take what he could get. Even if it was just his arm over her shoulder and her hair next to his cheek.

She fumbled in her skirt pocket for her key and slipped it into the lock as he stood beside her. The scene was so familiar, standing side by side on the porch as they arrived home, that he could almost convince himself that things were back to normal. They could have just come home after a night out for dinner at Granny's or a walk in the park after getting ice cream cones. It warmed his heart for about half a second; the time it took for Belle to push the front door open and for him to see just how deserted the house looked.

There wasn't a single light on, no warmth or sign of life. There were no books on the end tables or collected on the bottom stair where she liked to leave them before taking them back to the library in the morning. There were no coats or purses hung on the rack by the door, no slippers tucked under the sofa where she could change into them after wearing her heels all day. It just looked empty.

"The sheets are clean," she said quietly as she closed the door and moved around him to flick on the lights. "No groceries in the refrigerator, though." 

He had to swallow twice to get around the lump in his throat. "You... you didn't..."

He caught her eye, and he knew that the pleading he felt in his heart must have spilled over to his face because she winced as if she was in pain and looked down. Her only answer was a small shake of her head.

_She hadn't stayed at their house._

Somehow, this part hurt him more than so much else had. That he had pushed her away so terribly that she couldn't even bear to stay in their house... 

When he was away, he had at least had the comfort of knowing that she was okay. She was free of him. Able to live her life without his darkness, his lies, tainting it. She would be taken care of. Everything he had was hers. The house, the car, the money. But she hadn't touched any of it. He had no idea where she had gone or whether it was safe or warm or if she had enough for groceries. And he didn't even have the right to ask.

She would want nothing to do with him. And he couldn't blame her.

"You can... go. I'll just..." he started to say, but cut off as tears filled his eyes, both because he really didn't want her to go and because he had no idea how to finish his sentence.

"Rumple..." he heard her say, and he was about to tell her to leave again before he blurted out the truth when he felt her wrap her arms around his neck and hug him tightly.

No amount of guilt or self-hatred could have kept his own arms from going around her. It was as instinctual as breathing, hugging Belle, just as it was as natural as his heartbeat to love her. And Gods, did he love her.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like a man who had been lost at sea and finally found the shore. As it always did, Belle's warmth surrounded him in its arms, her strength filling him with all the resolve he needed to get through even one more moment without her. She was the missing piece to his happy ending, and he never wanted to let her go.

Maybe that was why he made a small sound of protest when she suddenly stepped back from him, releasing him like he'd burned her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, anguish in her blue eyes.

The sight made him frown. "Why are you sorry?"

"I shouldn't have..." she gestured helplessly towards him and it took him a long moment to realize that she was apologizing for _hugging_ him.

"T-That's quite alright." _I'm so glad you did. I've missed you so much, and it felt like heaven to have you in my arms again. Can we please do it again?_

"No, it was inappropriate," she said, chewing on her lip. "I shouldn't have encroached on your space. I have no right-"

She looked down, unable to finish her sentence but with a shake of her head. It hit him like a ton of bricks that she thought it had bothered him. She thought he didn't want her touch. 

He made a little sound of dismay before he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her to him. She didn't respond immediately and for a split second he thought perhaps he had made a dreadful mistake, but then he heard her whimper and suddenly she was hugging him back so fiercely it might have hurt if it wasn't exactly what he needed.

"I missed you," she cried, and Gods but if that didn't make tears spring to his eyes. She was hugging him and telling him she had missed him and he was so very, very grateful even though he couldn't quite believe it. After everything he had done, how could she even want anything to do with him.

"Belle, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated over and over, clinging to her like his life depended on how tightly he could hold her. Perhaps it did. 

She was his anchor in the darkness, his purpose. The love of his life and the only thing that kept him human amidst the dark voices that told him to rip and burn and crush until all the world lay at his feet. His love for her kept that last spark of light in his heart. Without her he was nothing.

And for all that she had given him, he had turned and lied to her, withheld from her, betrayed her. He had failed her. 

There was so much more he wanted to say, but Belle was wriggling out of his arms, holding him at arm's length with her palms against his chest, his heart beating erratically - desperately - beneath her tiny fingers. 

She looked like she was warring with herself, on the verge of saying something she wasn't quite sure she should, and he could only hold his breath and wait; wait and hope that this wasn't the moment she finally came to her senses and shoved him out the door.

She gave a small shake of her head and looked up at him, her cobalt eyes like the beacon of a lighthouse guiding him to shore. Gods, but they were beautiful. And filling with tears, he noticed with dismay. 

"We really have made a mess of things, haven't we?" she said quietly, a small sigh escaping her lips.

He swallowed, unsure of what to say and trying not to find solace and hope in the way she said 'we.'

Then Belle did the impossible. She took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and tugged him towards the stairs. He followed after her blindly - wherever she led, he would follow. Always. 

His heart skipped out of his chest when she led them to their bedroom, the familiar dark walls folding around them and welcoming them home. The room where they had spent hours worshipping each other and holding each other close, laughing and crying and soothing and loving. It was quiet, now. There was a fragile feeling in the air and he knew they were walking a tightrope between ruin and happiness and he hoped with all his soul that he wouldn't fall.

She guided them to the foot of the bed before she finally released his hand. He stood, silent, as she made her way to their closet, returning with a pair of his silk pajamas and, he noticed with a shaky breath, one of her nightgowns. He refused to draw any conclusions about what was happening; he simply stood, determined to follow her lead. He would have gladly slept on the porch if she asked, content merely to be that close to her. He just hoped she didn't toss his pajamas at him and tell him to leave. 

She stopped in front of him, laying the clothes on the bed and looking up at him. She reached for him slowly, her eyes flicking between her hand and his face as if she half expected him to refuse her. When he didn't, she brought her hands to the lapels of his jacket, slipping her fingers beneath them and guiding the fabric off his shoulders. He moved only enough to help it off his arms, and Belle was behind him to take it the rest of the way, folding it over a nearby chair.

She was even slower this time as she reached for his tie, but he merely closed his eyes with a contented sigh at the touch of her fingers at his collar as she worked the silk loose and slipped it from around his neck. There was no hesitation when she started on the buttons of his shirt, her fingers steady and sure as she slid the buttons free and lifted his shirt from his trousers. Then she slid that off, too, leaving him half bare before her, his breathing ragged simply from being so close to her again. 

She did hesitate at his belt, and he could almost feel her pull her bottom lip between her teeth even though his eyes were still closed. He dipped his head slightly, searching for her until his forehead brushed her temple, encouraging but not pushing. Never that. Never again. 

He felt her breath leave her - relief or nervousness, he wasn't sure - but her fingers went to work again, as steady as ever. His belt hit the floor with a small 'clink' before she undid the buttons of his trousers with a flick of her wrist. As the wool slid over his hips, he shifted and toed his shoes off, the whole thing falling into a messy pile on the floor that he carelessly kicked behind him. 

He was down to his boxers before her, their foreheads pressed together and her fingers resting lightly on his sides. She didn't seem pressed to move, and for a moment there was just the sound of their breathing in the otherwise quiet room before she stepped back a space and reached for the pajamas. 

He put on the trousers himself as she went around behind him, holding the shirt open for him when he was ready. Her small fingers did up the buttons, her hands resting on his chest for a moment when she'd finished. 

_There, perfect._

When she met his gaze again, her eyes had softened, a longing shining in them that made his heart hurt. She didn't say anything, merely turned around and reached behind her to pull her long hair over her shoulder, baring her back to him. Her intention was rather obvious; still, his hands were shaking as he clasped the zipper on the back of her dress, his movements slow lest she change her mind. 

When she didn't, he gave the zipper a gentle tug, slowly revealing an expanse of creamy skin. Belle shifted her shoulders once he'd reached her waist, helping the dress off of them, and he tried - really he did - not to turn into a quivering mess at the sight of her half naked before him, even with her back turned, but he was only a man, after all. A man who had missed her with his every breath and never quite thought he'd ever have the opportunity to see her like this again.

He brushed his fingers over her bare shoulders, his touch light as a feather and yet strong enough to send a jolt of electricity through him. He didn't push his luck; he knew they were far from ready for anything like that. He merely held her for a moment, his thumbs brushing over her soft skin. She was patient, his Belle, and kinder than he deserved. She leaned back into his touch, turning her head until her curls brushed his chin.

He had to force his hands to leave her and help the fabric of her dress over hips. He unclipped her bra with practiced fingers and kept his eyes carefully directed elsewhere as Belle shifted and allowed the clothing to fall. He helped her nightgown over her head, settling her hair back over her shoulders and resisting the urge to wrap her in his arms and kiss the top of her head as he would have months ago when things weren't broken. 

He took a shaky breath as he waited for Belle to decide what to do next. It was only when she reached for his hand and began to lead him to the bed - their bed - that he faltered. 

She looked up at him when he stopped moving, her eyes unsure for a moment until she saw the almost pained look on his face as he looked between her and the bed. 

She couldn't really be willing to invite him into her bed. After everything, she simply couldn't be that kind. He was lucky she hadn't thrown him out. He still half expected her to do so. At most, he could sleep on the couch or in one of the guest rooms. This was too much. He had done too much, hurt her too-

"Rumple," Belle said softly, interrupting his thoughts and shifting his attention to her face. She looked so beautiful, standing there, her hair outlined by the glow of the lamps and her blue eyes all the brighter for how dark it was. "It's alright. I promise."

He winced, the darkness inside him sneering that it was  _not_ alright and the man in him wishing for nothing more than to curl up beside her and hold her again. 

She squeezed his hand, her eyes warm and patient as she asked, "Trust me."

_Always, Belle._

He nodded, his breath leaving him in a rush. He quieted the voices in his head and simply focused on her, on the warmth of her hand and the assurance in her eyes. She released his hand to climb into the bed, scooting beneath the covers as she settled on the other side.

He waited until she looked back up at him, her gaze as sure as ever, before he climbed in after her. As he settled against the pillows, he could feel his heart fluttering nervously.  He didn't know where to put his hands, so he clasped them together over his chest so they wouldn't inadvertently reach for Belle without him telling them to. She was watching him; he could feel it. She was curled up on her side watching him and he just wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. He wanted to fix this.

He stopped breathing when he felt her move, but his breath rushed right out of him again in a choked noise when she reached for him, her soft fingers trailing over the curve of his jaw with such tenderness as he couldn't believe. He turned his head, his pleading eyes meeting hers. He couldn't bring himself to ask her outright; he didn't have the courage and knew he didn't deserve it. Somehow, though, Belle knew. She knew and she nodded her head and, with that tiny gesture, gave him more than he could ever dare ask for.

He unlocked his hands and pulled her into his arms, wrapping his around her and holding her tightly against his chest. She snuggled against him, her nose brushing against his neck and her hand resting over his heart. It was like coming home, to have her in his arms again, and it was only then that he realized what it was to be free. He didn't need sorcerer's hats or the trinkets sat in his shop. He didn't need his magic, or even the freedom from his dagger. His greatest strength was bundled willingly in his arms. It was, and always would be, her. His Belle, and the love he felt for her clear down to his bones. And he would never do anything to jeopardize that again.

"I love you, Belle," he whispered into her chestnut curls.

And Belle snuggled closer, and he could feel her heartbeat beneath his hands as she promised, "I love you too, Rumple."

There was hurt still there, surely. There were wounds that needed healing. There were explanations to be heard, apologies to be made. But as he drifted to sleep, warm for the first time in months, there was something even more powerful in Rumplestiltskin's heart: hope.

* * *

He knew it was late when he woke with a patch of sun warming his shoulder, stray sunbeams streaming in through the curtains and alighting the dark walls with lines of yellow and orange. He was still in that place between sleep and consciousness, trying steadfastly to hang onto the bliss that had followed him in his sleep at having Belle beside him again. With a grumble, he rolled to his side and reached for her, but his arm met with empty sheets.

It was easy to wake after that. He shot up in bed with a start, his heart plummeting when he saw her side of the bed was empty and there was no sign of her in the room. He perked his ears, but the adjacent bathroom was quiet and there wasn't a creak or clink in the large house to tell him she was still there.

"B-Belle?" he called softly, trying not to let the tiny spark of hope that had bloomed in him the night before go out. 

There was no answer.

He kicked back the covers and scrambled to his feet, peeking into the bathroom just in case but finding it empty. A quick look out the window showed Emma's bug was also gone from the driveway.

He shuffled backwards until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he sank down onto the bed, his chest aching as doubt clouded his thoughts. Did she regret staying with him? Had she woken and changed her mind about him; about them? 

The sudden sound of the front door closing caught his attention, pulling him from his thoughts and urging him to his feet. Afraid she had just left, he sprinted down the hallway and down the stairs as fast as he could take them, his eyes on the door as soon as he rounded the stairs.

He skidded to a halt when he saw Belle in the foyer, removing a coat from her shoulders and hanging it on the rack by the door. She had a white paper bag in her hand, and looked surprised to see him when she looked up to find him standing at the base of the stairs, his chest heaving and his hair mussed.

"Belle," he breathed in relief. "I thought..."

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it nervously, but her cheeks had a bit of color on them and her eyes looked brighter than he'd seen them in weeks. 

"I, um," she gestured to the paper bag, marked clearly on the side with the 'Granny's diner' logo, "I thought maybe we could have breakfast. And talk."

"I'd like that," he whispered, and the spark of hope in his chest caught fire as he watched her eyes brighten further and she smiled.


End file.
